• The Dilbert Blog: A Feeling I’m Being Had
  “Ahmadinejad believes his role is to pave the way for the coming of the Twelfth Imam. That’s a primitive apocalyptic belief! I thank Jesus I do not live in a country led by a man who believes in that sort of bullshit.”

There’s no unifying theme to this post. Just some random things I need to get off my chest before I claw my own eyes out.

Is it too much to ask for Sam’s to hire competent customer service people? Today it took three, count’em THREE, people twenty minutes to help the woman in front of me return a TV of some sort. Apparently the transaction was so all-consuming that neither of the three people could even look up and acknowledge the fact that I was waiting ever so impatiently. Look, if I wanted to be mistreated and ignored by a salesperson I’d go to Wal-Mart.

Picture this: You’ve had a bad day. It’s so hot outside that you can’t walk across a parking lot from your car to a store without your nether-regions soaking your clothes with a stinky, yellowish sweat. Suddenly a thought enters your head–ice cream would be good. Wait, no…too hot for ice cream. It’d melt all over your hands and create a mess that rivals the yellow sweat. Ice cream float. It’s still ice cream, but it’s in a cup, and it’s also got root beer. Bonus. So you head over to the A&W Restaurant with all the enthusiasm of a twelve year old. You arrive at the counter and excitedly say “A large root beer float please, and gimme an extra shot of joy and innocence!” The guy behind the counter says, “Sorry pal. We’re all out of root beer.” Your mind reels. It’s an A&W restaurant for God’s sake. That’s like going to a barber and being told they’re out of haircuts. If this happens to you, as it did to me today, then quickly take out your wallet and bite down on it. Otherwise, in the midst of your rage, your jaw will slam shut and you’ll crack your teeth.

Today during a news conference, President Marble-Mouth said this: “Part of the reason why there’s not this instant democracy in Iraq is because people are still recovering from Saddam Hussein’s brutal rule. Sort of an interesting comment, I heard somebody say, `Where’s Mandela?’ Well, Mandela’s dead because Saddam Hussein killed all the Mandelas.”

Look people, I couldn’t make this up. Here’s a YouTube clip.

<sigh> Nelson Mandela’s not dead you raving dipshit. Look, it’s no secret that I don’t like Bush, but I’m not one of the people that thinks he’s a retard. You can’t be a retard and get into the White House. But really, that comment is fucking retarded. I’m actually wondering if he says crap like that to distract his critics from substantive issues. I also wonder if the Secret Service agents have to handcuff themselves to keep from tackling, restraining, and then spitting in the mouth of “Tumbler” every time he says something this idiotic.

• Knife Throwing Mother & Her Little Girls-via YouTube
  “A near miss! But this MIss says it’s as good as a smile!”

In 1969, a twenty-eight year old Bobby Sessions met a young woman named Linda Brotherton. They had both just come out of rocky marriages, and Linda quickly fell in love with Bobby, who was flirtatious and brass–everything that her former husband hadn’t been. Linda’s previous marriage had been violent, and she was happy to be around Bobby, who apparently doted on her and her three year old daughter, Shelley.

Linda and Bobby married in Houston, Texas, and Bobby began working in the oil industry. He was ambitious and motivated, and within several years Bobby found himself in Manhattan working as the vice president of Amerada Hess. The Sessions family lived in New Jersey and Bobby commuted into Manhattan every day. After several years he took a job in Houston as an oil-trader, a job that would earn Bobby Sessions millions of dollars. At thirty-eight Bobby Sessions had made enough money to move back to his hometown of Corsicana, Texas and retire.

Unbeknownst to Linda, Bobby began molesting his thirteen year old step-daughter when they were still living in Houston. At first Bobby claimed to Shelley that it was a way for them to become closer, and because Shelley was physically afraid of her step-father, she didn’t tell anyone. The attacks from her step-father only increased after the family moved to Corsicana, and Bobby became more and more possessive of his step-daughter. As Bobby became more overtly manipulative of Shelley, Linda withdrew from the family totally, presumably as a way to hide herself from Bobby’s disgustingly brazen behavior.

I won’t summarize the whole book, but the life of Shelley Sessions is disturbing and disgusting. As Shelley gets older and begins to realize the hellishness of her life, she attempts to get help, but Bobby’s position in the rural community made it difficult for her to find someone willing to take on the local millionaire. Thankfully, there was one exception. The pastor of a local church, Henry Edgington, risked his life to help the young Shelley Sessions. Edgington was the first person Shelley told about her father, the pederast. In the book Dark Obsession, Shelley reminisces about Edgington, “Everybody loved Henry. He was, like, best friend to everybody. And, you know, he was always there. We all used to hang out with him. So he seemed like the person to tell.”

The excerpt that follows occurs immediately after Shelley finally opens up to Henry Edgington about the tragedy that was her life:

“Don’t worry Shelley,” [Edgington] said. “Nobody’s going to touch you again.”

Henry ushered Shelley and Jackie into his living room. Shelley felt safe, if not completely comfortable. Part of her was even wondering why she hadn’t done this sooner.

Edgington didn’t condemn her or call her a slut. Though she trusted him, Shelley fully expected a man of the cloth to be disgusted by her “confession.” When he wasn’t, she felt washed by a soothing wave.

“All of a sudden I could see all this relief on her,” recalled Edgington. “It was finally out in the open and she knew something was going to be done about it and she was going to get out of this stupid mess…Now that he knew the truth, Edgington wasn’t going to take any chances in getting Shelley to Corsicana. It was a straight ten-mile drive, and it went by [Bobby Sessions'] ranch. And he was worried that Bobby might now be desperate enough to do something rash.

He called his friends on the Kerens and Powell police departments and told them not to worry if they saw him speeding by–he was taking Shelley Sessions to Corsicana [to the police dept.].

Edgington now motored a little four-wheel gem out of his garage: a 1923 T-Bucket Roadster with an incongruous throaty idle that seemed to rattle the entire machine, and as Edgington described it, “this big beautiful chrome Chevrolet engine, the best thing that could have happened to a Ford.” The pastor was a car buff–especially hot rods. “We were afraid that Bob was going to be waiting for us,” he recalled, “so I wanted to use the Roadster. It had a 327 built-up engine with almost 400 horse-power, and I could blow anything off the road. These Roadsters will do 160.”

Edgington ended up getting Shelley to Corsicana safely, and he eventually helped her extricate herself from the claws of Bobby Sessions.

The first time I heard about this story wasn’t in a bookstore or via a book review. No, the first time I heard this story was from Henry’s own mouth. He had been the pastor of the Church of Christ in West, Texas, for several years, and I was good friend with his oldest son, Chris. I was spending the night with Chris one weekend, and while we where playing the Nintendo in his room he began to tell me this tale. We were in eighth grade, and I thought he was having me on. Since I kept telling him he was full of shit, Chris finally called his dad into the room and asked him to tell me the story of Shelley Sessions. Henry really didn’t want to, but he reluctantly told me an abbreviated version of the story.

After I got home that weekend I immediately called Waldenbooks and ordered the book. After I read it I couldn’t believe that the same guy I saw at least twice a week was an honest-to-goodness hero. I already thought the world of Henry, but after I read the book I was totally amazed by the guy.

I went through some pretty tough times after high school, and on several occasions I sought out Henry to help get me through those times. He was always there for me when I needed him, despite going through some rough patches with his own family.

So it pained me more than I can possibly explain when I found out that on September 8th, Waco police arrested Henry Edgington for possession of child pornography. Henry was an assistant pastor at the Elm Mott Church of Christ, a position which he resigned from immediately before his arrest. Henry told the police that he was researching pornographic sites in an attempt to shut them down.

The parishioners at the Elm Mott Church of Christ are standing behind Henry. They claim he told them of his investigation and they supported him in it.

I hope with all my heart Henry actually thought he was doing a good thing. A little part of me will simply shrivel up and die if Henry isn’t as heroic as I’ve always thought him to be.

• Man hides sex toys in sausage for Dubai trip
  When I read stories like this my inner-Beavis just starts going nuts. Hehhehe…nuts….

I’m not quite done with the post on Dark Obsession. My apologies. I’ve been busy, and frankly, this one’s been hard to write.

Hopefully it’ll be up tomorrow.

In other news, several outlets have reported that in Vincente Fox’s new autobiography, Revolution of Hope, the former presidente claims that President Bush was, “The cockiest guy I ever met in my life.” Obviously, non-Bush fans consider “cocky” to be a pejorative word. Not me. I think it’s a good thing. There’s nothing that makes me feel safer than knowing that I can describe the President in the same way I’d describe a typical high school varsity football player. God knows they both have the qualities necessary to deal rationally with international policies.

Anniina asked when I was planning on starting another round of the Hyperliterature Reading Group. I think now’s as good a time as any. I have a few books in mind I’d like to propose, but I thought I’d solicit help this time around. So, any ideas?

• Pot-smoking cows could stop mad cow disease
  Okay, I’ll keep an open mind this. But how in the world will we ever teach a cow to hold a joint? I mean, hooves aren’t known for their dexterity.
• What’s the hardest part about being you? -via YouTube
  This goes out to Flood, who once had a student write the single word “beard” on his teacher evaluation form.

Tonight’s post will in part discuss the book Dark Obsession, by Shelly Sessions and Peter Meyer. Here’s the New York Times 1990 book review. It’s a nauseating story, and unfortunately, the bit that I have to offer is even more disturbing.